


He Just Keeps Killing Henry

by Tyloric



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Character Study, Emotionally Compromised Henry, Experimental Style, Gen, Happens somewhere during chapter 3, Henry's Healing Hugs, Non-Graphic Violence, Temporary Character Death, That's a tag now, You won't find dad Henry here, head canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyloric/pseuds/Tyloric
Summary: There is a brief moment of intense pain as Bendy grabs him by the throat and squeezes. Thankfully it is short lived, as Henry dies very quickly after that.As he travels down the inky black corridor, following the path towards the light at the end of the tunnel that promises his resurrection, Henry wonders what he could have done differently.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's late and I'm tired but I really wanted to post this. I'll edit it later maybe.
> 
> Title is a reference to the Torchwood episode They Just Keep Killing Suzie.

When the walls begin to bleed ink, Henry finds that he is too exhausted to be scared. He’s past fear; it’s too tiresome. As the ink begins to seep up from the floorboards and pool around his already ruined shoes, he lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. This song and dance of theirs has reached its crescendo, it would seem. 

He was getting tired of playing Alice’s little games, anyway. _Sorry, Boris. I’ll catch up soon. I hope._

One of the closets he usually takes refuge in stands not too far away, just down the hall, well within sprinting distance. Even still, he regards it with a kind of disdain. Henry is tired of running, tired of hiding, for all the good it did him. Somewhere, back in the far reaches of his mind, something is telling him he’s been through this all before, anyway. 

Axe suddenly feeling much heavier in his hand Henry tosses it away, does an about face, and waits; Bendy has a knack for appearing behind him.

The air seems to get thicker, excluding a kind of pressure that makes it difficult to breathe. Still, Henry just waits, ignoring how the ink spills over his feels and sinks into his shoes. He’s been covered in the stuff since he got here, so he hardly notices the smell or feeling of the ink anymore. He just stares at the blind corner where the hallway bends. 

There is a snicker behind him and the sudden feeling of being watched. Henry takes comfort in the fact that if nothing else, Bendy is predictable. 

He turns around and finds the trickster devil staring down at him only a foot away, the ever present smile plastered on his face, ink dripping down his face, a single pie-cut eye staring at him through the goo. Bendy snickers again. 

Henry smiles genuinely back. Something about Bendy has always made him happy, even though he’s trying to hurt him. Pride, maybe? 

“Hello again, Bendy,” Henry says tired but amicably. “Good to see you.”

The snickering comes to an immediate halt and Henry has to fight the urge to take an instinctive step back, a wave of nausea passing over him. Bendy’s open mouthed smile didn’t change, but Henry didn’t think for a second that the dancing devil was anything but happy. 

“Look, I-” 

There is a brief moment of intense pain as Bendy grabs him by the throat and _squeezes_. Thankfully it is short lived, as Henry dies very quickly after that. 

As he travels down the inky black corridor, following the path towards the light at the end of the tunnel that promises his resurrection, Henry wonders what he could have done differently.

-♪♫♪-

Coming back to life is really rough on his joints. He’s too old for this. He glances back at the giant Bendy statue and looks at it ponderingly for a moment before shrugging. He’ll get his answers for everything going on here eventually. But for now, answers aren’t his goal; Bendy is.

-♪♫♪-

His next attempt doesn’t go much better. In fact, it goes much worse: Bendy catches his axe as he’s mid swing into one of the Bendy cut outs. He appeared so much quicker this time; with less warning. He pulls the axe out of Henry’s hand, twists it, raises it, and brings it down Henry’s head.

Blessedly, Henry doesn’t feel anything at all this time.

-♪♫♪-

He makes progress on his third attempt.

“Do you remember, too?” Henry asks, more out of curiosity than anything. Bendy is down the hall, approaching slowly, as if he’s certain that Henry isn’t going to try and run; which is true, he wouldn’t. Death is less terrifying when you learn it isn’t permanent. 

The question seems to give Bendy pause, as if he’s considering Henry’s words, foot suspended comically in the air. Eventually he keeps going, though, and eventually breaks Henry’s neck. But still; if anything, this proves to Henry that Bendy can, on some level, understand him.

It proves that Bendy remembers all these deaths, too.

-♪♫♪-

After a while, Bendy just begins to actively seek him out instead of waiting for Henry to start chopping at his cutouts. Henry counts that as progress, too. He has the dancing devil’s full attention now.

There are a few details that seem minor, but are consistent throughout all these attempts: 

One, Bendy kills him.

Two, Bendy always seems to ensure that his death is as painless as possible.

And three, he’s always waited until Henry provokes him to start seeking him out. That has clearly changed.

-♪♫♪-

“You’re angry with me,” he says, backing away from Bendy as he draws near. He tenses in the shoulders, and then picks up the pace. Ah, so Henry struck a nerve; he’s on the right track. When he turns and actually runs this time Bendy lets out a shriek of rage and gives chase. Henry can’t move all that quick in the ink that has pooled in the hall, not with Bendy so close in proximity to him, but really all he’s trying to do is delay the inevitable.

“Was it something I did?!” He yells back over his shoulder, taking the corner in the hallway. Bendy doesn’t stop to compensate for his speed and slams into the wall, but quickly corrects himself and continues after Henry. “Was it something Joey did?” He asks instead when he doesn’t get a response. The sound that Bendy produces cut into Henry’s core so viscerally that he’s seeing stars, eyes filling with tears. Were these Bendy’s emotions? 

Bendy finally reaches him, tugging Henry backwards by the back of his shirt and tossing him in the opposite direction they’re running. He lands in a pool of ink, sliding backwards because of the momentum until he slams into the wall. Henry is pretty used to pain at this point, but it still leaves him reeling, his vision going dark around the edges. 

Which is when it all clicks into place. 

“I’m sorry,” he grits out when Bendy catches up and grabs him by the front of his shirt this time and lifts him off the ground with ease. “I wasn’t there to stop him.” 

Bendy freezes in place. Literally freezes. The ink in the hall stops flowing, droplets leaking from the ceiling suddenly suspended in mid air. 

Henry’s caught Bendy off guard so he presses his advantage.

“Joey hurt you, like he’s hurt so many others,” he says as calmly and soothingly as he can. “I’m your creator, and I wasn’t here to protect you.”

Bendy _roars_ , mouth opening for the first time that Henry can recall. It is a shriek of intense anguish, pain, and anger, so filled with emotion that Henry himself can feel the edges of it in his own senses. Henry’s heart breaks. 

He releases Henry from his grasp and he falls back to the ground with a splash, coughing and sputtering as he gets a mouthful of ink. Bendy is grasping at his own head, now, tossing himself around as if there is something clawing at his insides. The shrieking doesn’t stop; If anything, it becomes more intense. 

Ignoring the ringing in his ears, Henry gets to his feet and watches for his opportunity to act, which he sees when Bendy rears his head back to let out another shriek. He rushes forward and-

Wraps his arms around Bendy’s mid section and squeezes as tightly as he can. Bendy’s thrashing ceases immediately, caught with his back arched backwards mid scream, frozen in place. Bendy is more solid than he appears; he’s covered in a thick layer of ink, but underneath he is completely solid, and queerly warm. Alive.

“I’m sorry,” Henry sobs, suddenly aware he’s crying. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to help you other than make Joey answer for all of this.” His chest heaves as he sobs, not entirely certain if all the emotions he’s feeling are coming from him or not, but he doesn’t stop to think about or fight it. He ignores the spiny protrusion on Bendy’s malformed back and opts for just hugging the pained devil as hard as he can.

Bendy sinks down to his knees and Henry follows, not letting go. He keeps mumbling his apologies and his failures, not sure what else he can do. He suddenly feels so useless; useless to help what he had a hand in creating, useless that he can’t stop the pain Bendy must be feeling. 

He feels Bendy’s arms come around him and mentally braces himself for death. 

A death that never comes.

It takes him a moment to realize the Bendy is hugging him back. 

“I’m going to make him answer for everything,” Henry hears himself promise and means it. 

Bendy pushes Henry away with enough force that Henry is forced to release his grip, but doesn’t throw him away. Instead he captures Henry’s attention by lifting Henry’s chin up with his hand. The devil’s face still has a grin, is still covered in ink, but the air around him feels a little less oppressing. 

Getting to his feet, Bendy then reaches down and offers Henry a hand to help him up. Henry takes it without hesitation, eyes never leaving Bendy’s face. The ink monster raises a hand to pat Henry on the head, turns, and begins walking away.

Henry watches him go, unmoving, as the puddles of ink trail off after Bendy in his wake. He waits until Bendy is out of sight, rounding the corner of another hallway, before he turns and heads back in the direction of Alice’s room.

He’s not satisfied yet, but still. 

Progress.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has become a hot bed for experiments and ideas. Don't expect a conclusion here, folks; you won't find it. This is officially a playground. But you guys liked the first part well enough that I figured I'd post the rest of what I'd written.

It’s not that Henry wasn’t aware of the problem, it’s that he’d simply chosen to actively ignore and not acknowledge that it could indeed be something of a concern. Because really, it wasn’t exactly an issue that had been slowing him down. If anything it had been quite helpful.

You see, Henry didn’t seem to bleed anymore. At least, not blood. No, he bled ink. Which was admittedly a fairly new occurrence as he was completely certain that he did not have ink in his veins before returning to the studio. 

Henry had first noticed something was amiss after his first encounter with an ink creature; it had hit him in just the right way that he’d fumbled with his axe and slice into his forearm quite impressively. He remembers the pain of it quite clearly, though he hadn’t had the spare moment to dwell on it as there was a creature made of pure ink trying to kill him (which at the time had come as quite the shock).

After Henry had finally managed to dispatch it and gone to inspect the wound he’d found that there wasn’t one. Instead, where there should have been a deep gash was a smear of black and no injury at all. 

_Well that’s curious._

In the interest of science, he’d then intentionally sliced his finger across the edge of his axe, winced at the pain - how trivial that seemed now - and watched as a single black droplet oozed out of the cut, dripped down his finger, and after a few moments healed entirely. 

He’d questioned it at first, of course. How couldn’t he? But the thoughts led nowhere and something else kept coming up so eventually he’d just accepted it as fact: I bleed ink. 

Not long after that Bendy killed him for the first time and he woke up and honestly, after that, Henry just decided to keep going along his merry way.

-♪♫♪-

_“I know who you are, Henry! And I know why you’ve come!”_

Henry had known better than to trust Alice, but he hadn’t considered that she would - or even could, for that matter - drop the elevator out from under he and Boris. 

And truly, that’s what was on his mind on the way down. He wasn’t worried for his safety, but instead for Boris’.His poor judgement had also condemned the poor wolf to the safe fate: death by falling elevator. Henry was fairly certain he would come back to life, but he knew for a fact that Boris wouldn’t. 

And _that_ … that hurt.

-♪♫♪-

Henry didn’t hate Alice; she was the product of Joey’s twisted experiments. Not her fault she came out the other end broken as all hell. Even when she dragged Boris off Henry’s severely injured form and down the hall, the poor toon struggling the whole way, he still couldn’t find it in himself to hate her.

Anger, though? That’s easy.

Oh, yes. Anger is so, so easy. 

As his broken body slowly knits itself back together, bones breaking and realigning, Henry finds that it was easy to ignore the pain if he simply focused on all the ways he was going make Alice regret this.

-♪♫♪-

“Home! I just want to go home! When can I go home?” The inky figure with a body that is vaguely human in shape wails, shambling away back the way it came. Henry watches it go impassively, not outwardly reacting. Though there is no one here to see, nothing about his expression or body language gives away that he is in anyway upset about what he’s just witnessed.

All he does is move up to the door and push it open to see what awaits him beyond. 

The crowds of ink people don’t particularly bother him either. He’d been expecting something like this, if nothing else. The studio had been relatively empty, all things considered; a massive space populated by only the occasional monster or failed cartoon abomination. It stood to reason that the rest of the staff had to be somewhere.

Apparently ‘here’ just happens to be about half a mile underground. 

But honestly, to say Henry is not upset by these developments would be completely incorrect. No, it’s only that the anger and outrage that he would have felt he already feels. The emotions smolder just below the surface of his skin, hot and boiling; a pressure vessel ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. 

It’s not that he feels nothing; he just doesn’t have any more room to feel anything else.

-♪♫♪-

Something else does eventually stir inside of Henry’s chest when he watches Bendy and Norman, now the projectionist, duke it out in front of him. He recognizes it as fear, something he thought he’d done away with, so he’s confused as to what precisely he is scared of. Still, he knows what the outcome of this battle will be. It was never really in question.

Bendy takes it a step too far, though, when he rips poor Norman’s head off and Henry is up and moving before he can think better of it.

“Hey!” Henry says, busting out of the closet he’d been hiding in. Bendy cranes his head slightly towards the smaller man, not at all surprised to find that Henry had been nearby. “That was uncalled for! He was already down!” Henry isn’t sure what he’s saying.

Bendy looks from the projector in his hand, down to the inky body of Norman, and back to Henry. He shrugs, grin staying plastered where it is, as if to ask Henry, _‘So what?’_

“Don’t look at me like that!” Henry nearly shouts. “He was my friend, once! Treat him with some dignity, for God’s sakes!” Where is this coming from? “And I’m willing to bet he was yours once too!” Though he’s never given much thought as to who Bendy’s true identity really is. It’s ultimately not important, he feels. 

Bendy tilts his head to the side, regarding Henry silently for moment before reaching up and pushing Henry away with his gloved hand. The man goes stumbling backwards before he falls on backwards on his ass. 

He looks up and opens his mouth to shout profanities at Bendy, only to find Bendy shaking a finger at him, daring Henry to protest one more time. For whatever reason, that works. Henry feels the fight leave him in an instant. 

Bendy drops the projector, grabs Norman’s body by the arm and drags him up the stairs without so much as a glance backwards. 

Henry watches him go, fuming and frustrated.

 _God dammit,_ he thinks.

-♪♫♪-

Henry feels something in his snap when he takes Boris down. It goes taught and then breaks as if it was a guitar string that was pulled too tight.

He watches Alice charge him, screaming at him to die.

He watches _that_ Alice get impaled by sword being held by _another_ Alice, with _another_ Boris standing right behind her, and Henry finds that he doesn’t have any energy or willpower left to feel anything else (especially since his revenge against the ‘evil’ Alice was just stolen from him) but-

Loneliness-

Anger-

Hate-

Betrayal-

All directed at one Joey Drew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tense change mid way through the chapter is intentional. Again, just playing around with some stylistic ideas and such.
> 
> My version of Henry is, I think, a sociopath. 
> 
> Any potential further updates will happen post Chapter 5.
> 
> Update: okay, so, after that weird ass ending in chapter 5 I'm not even going to attempt to make this story confirm to that cop out of a conclusion.


End file.
